Stereo Hearts
by SomethingIDontKnow
Summary: Jazz has been a servant of Prowl's for years now. As his Master's behavior become more and more agressive toward him, Jazz seeks release in the music of slum clubs. There, he meets a DJ that will change his life forever. BlasterxJazz Some ProwlxJazz
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Stereo Hearts**

**Chapter: 1**

**Author: SomethingIDontknow**

**Rating: M (For Master complexes, rape, abuse, mechs-without-gender romancing and getting it on, and some other stuff I haven't thought of yet.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, that's Mr. Michael Bay's. And Hasbro's. Luckies.**

**Author's Note: Firstly, thank you for giving this story a chance, and I hope I convince you to keep reading. I do believe that there should be more out there for this pairing, and though it does start out rather ProwlxJazz, this will be a BlasterxJazz story. So, here we go…**

**Here's how we're doing this, because im easily confused by Cybertronian time, I changed it up some (a lot). (Breem: minute) (Joor: hour) (Cycle: day) (Vorn: week) (Orn: month) (Stellar Cycle: year) Hopefully this will keep it consistent. **

Jazz dropped the bags he had been carrying onto the table heavily. Slumping against the counter, he panted softly, trying to help his fans cool his frame. He'd spent the day shopping for groceries and other household necessities, then spent a few hours hauling his purchases into the house. As unexciting as that sounded, it was hard work considering he'd been terribly under fueled lately. His own fault, for staying out too late when his Master had been so generous as to allow him out for the night.

Speaking of, he needed to start dinner soon if he wanted to have it done on time. And he needed everything to work perfectly for as long as possible if he wanted to go out again any time soon. Jazz scrambled around the kitchen for a while, trying to stir a heating container of mid grade in pot and put his purchases away. He played his radio quietly, not wanting to disturb his Master. Time passed, however, and as the energon simmered and he sprinkled fine metal additives into the swirling fluid, he steadily cranked his radio higher. Moving in such tiny increments, he hardly noticed, and remained sure he was staying quiet. As the energon finally distilled down to a thick, delicious smelling mixture, the black and white mech dared to scoop a small amount onto his finger. It was only a little right? And it was just to make sure dinner would be tasting it's best right? It was perfectly alright if it was to better serve his Master. As the thick, tempting fluid neared his lips, he was halted by a hand on his arm.

Busted.

He switched off his radio instantly, whirling to find Prowl of Praxus mere inches away. His Master. "S-Sir!" he stuttered, "I-I- didn't hear you come in! I- I was just about to- to test your energon. T-to make sure it was prepared c-correctly." "I can see that." The taller mech said softly, his voice was soft and dangerous, "but I believe you are not permitted such indulgences right now." "I- Yes, Sir, my apologies." Jazz lowered his optics, and bit his lip plate. Trembling ever so slightly, he offered up the still energon coated finger. Prowl raised an optic ridge, but leaned in, closing his mouth over the offered digit. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he stroked his glossa over the finger. Taking his time stroking the delicious fluid away.

When he finally eased Jazz's finger from his oral cavity, the praxian left a parting lick before releasing the hand. "see to it that it doesn't happen again." Prowl murmured before turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen as suddenly as he'd come.

Jazz hit the stove console, shutting off the heat, before sliding to the floor. He pulled up his knees and pressed his visored optics to his knee joints. He was shaking hard. Prowl always frightened him so terribly, and when he caught Jazz doing something wrong without directly punishing him, it left the poor mech fearing punishment for weeks to come. The black and white flicked back his visor to wipe cleansing fluid from his optics. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he snicked his visor back in place and stood with resolve. His Master would be expecting dinner soon, and Jazz was not going to give Him any more opportunity to punish him than he already had.

Prowl was sitting at his desk, in his study, reading over some data pads his Prime had sent over that morning. Apparently he was going to need to increase patrols in the second and fourth sectors. They were suffering a small spike in crime and the inhabitants were protesting loudly. The Chief Enforcer sighed to himself, making a note in his calendar to speak with Red Alert about shuffling the patrol routines. There was a chime at his door. "Come in." he called, not bothering to look up from his reading. "Your evening meal, Sir." Jazz kept his visored optics down as he set the silver tray on the wide wooden desk. The material was an import from Earth, a planet on reasonable relations with Cybertron. "Thank you Jazz." Prowl said quietly, examining his servant. The bot had been doing decently well after his most recent punishment, but having caught the mech trying to sneak energon, the Enforcer was not particularly inclined to let him off too easy. "Was there much energon left over?" he asked, feigning disinterest.

"very little, Sir."

It was hard to miss the soft rumble of the smaller mech's tanks.

"Throw it out then." Prowl ordered, watching from the corner of his optic as the mech's shoulder slumped slightly, "You may have half a cube of low grade, Jazz, but if you try to sneak any more energon, I will have to cut your ration for another quarter vorn." "Yes, Sir." Jazz murmured softly, taking the silver tray as his Master removed the cube. He bowed slightly and left without a word.

Prowl watched him go with no little interest. The smaller mech did have such a lovely frame, and it would be a shame to let such a thing go unnoticed.

Once the door was shut again and Prowl was alone, he set his data pads aside. Steepleing his fingertips, he pressed his fore helm to the arch, closing his optics to meditate. For a moment, he thought about nothing. Merely let the silence of the room permeate his processor. But soon enough, his thoughts wandered to the little mech in his house, no doubt measuring out a careful half cube at the moment. Prowl smiled to himself. Jazz was one of the last little joys in his life.

Prowl's work was hard work. He spent long hours and plenty of physical labor trying to keep the city safe. It wasn't a life that left a lot of room for relationships or family raising. When he had been a young mech, Prowl had been so sure how it would all play out. He would become a proper Enforcer, maybe meet a nice bot, start a family, live happily ever after.

It turned out, his work ment more to him than even he at anticipated. Relationships fell to the wayside, suffered, cracked. He lost a lot of friends and all of his lovers to the job. But he excelled in his chosen field. He was the youngest Chief Enforcer in the history of the force. He had been known as a clean cop back then. No nonsense about corruption in the ranks. But as Chief Enforcer, things were different. He saw now certain political games had to be played to keep his position and provide the city with what he saw as the best forms of protection.

There were perks to his position now. His new home and servant being prime examples. The house was a decently sized three bedroom in the city's upper district. Luxurious by most standards, it even had a small crystal garden in the back yard. The servant, one Jazz, was a young mech from a slum area of another nearby city.

Prowl had never approved of such customs as a patrol Enforcer, but his views had changed since then. Jazz had a nice home with him. And, as long as he behaved and did as he was told, he would be well fueled and taken care of. But the mech was a bit of an oddball by Prowl's standards. He had a penchant for human music, another import from Earth, and loved to sing and dance to that infernal radio. Prowl only permitted it on the grounds that it was to be played quietly and only when Prowl was not in the general vicinity. Taking away his radio could be a better punishment that cutting his ration for a full vorn.

All his oddities aside, Jazz was absolutely gorgeous. How he got such a delectable fame type in the slums, Prowl had no idea. The mech was all soft, shy smiles and graceful motion. Though Prowl didn't particularly like his visor, which prevented the praxian from reading his expression, the smaller mech insisted it was part of his helm build and completely unavoidable.

In the beginning of their relationship, if one could call it that, both mechs had carefully avoided physical contact. Prowl from a sense of duty, and Jazz, no doubt, from a simple dislike for his Master. Things had changed, Prowl had earned the little mech's trust, and they became close. As Prowl's only real friend and confidant, Jazz learned to accept his strict new keeper. They were comrades for a while, both so new to the world they were sharing.

Jazz's implicit trust soon created something new in Prowl. A new sense of duty. Of privilege. It started slowly, with small things. Little touches, chaste, playful kisses. Prowl never felt he was forcing the smaller mech. They were both willing participants. And Jazz was such a sweet mech, giving and so eager to please…

Prowl shook his helm and reached for his cube again. He had work to do. Pushing all thoughts of the other black and white from his processor, he picked up a data pad and continued his work.

Jazz settled on his berth with his half cube in hand. He wrapped one of his thin sheets around himself, knowing that it would get cold soon. As he sipped his energon, he turned on his radio very softly. Checking his chronometer, he switched channels rapidly. "Hey there, mechs and femmes and everybot tuning in across the city!" Inching up the volume, Jazz cuddled into his blanket to listen. "This is Blaster here, your favorite DJ!" there was a crackle of feedback as the crowd cheered. The black and white lifted his cube and took a tiny sip, savoring the low grade. It was his favorite program, a direct radio broadcast from his favorite club across the city. It was pure luck that Blaster was the one performing tonight. His favorite DJ. "We got a hot show for you tonight! But first, I got a little shout out for a good friend a mine. This poor mech got busted by the main machine for trying to have a little fun. Can you believe that!" The crowd screamed in denial and there was a round of booing. "So tonight, I think we should all party a little bit harder than usual, just for our brother being held prisoner by that big, bad machine!" The feedback returned twofold and the music started up loud. "This party's for you, Shades!" Jazz barely suppressed a squeal of excitement. Blaster _was _talking about him! Oh, it was so wonderful that the mech remembered!

Jazz nuzzled into his blanket, his frame rocking gently to the quiet beat. He sipped his low grade as he listened, his entire frame aching for the dance floor. Music was his deepest passion. Music of every kind, Cybertronian and Earthly, just did something to his spark. Filling him with a motive charge, it make him feel alive like nothing else. The only thing to chance competing was his love for dancing, which was technically an extension of his love for music, as his Carrier had once told him. Even his name was a form of music that had been popular on Earth many hundred stellar cycles ago. His creators had been musicians in the lower district of the city, both had loved Earth and the new styles of music it brought to Cybertron. But their passions had driven both of them to heavy drinking and illegal activity. They lost Jazz when they were unable to pay back a debt to the wrong bots.

He was dying to feel that beat pounding against him in a mass of heated bodies. Not tonight. The last time Master Prowl had allowed him out to the club, he had finally met his idol, the infamous DJ Blaster. Unfortunately, the meeting ran long and the pair ended up talking for joor about music. He was three joor late for his curfew. Prowl had hit him hard across the faceplates and cut his ration for the next few vorn. In such an uncertain state, Jazz had initiated the display in the kitchen after being caught. He shivered just thinking about it.

He was so afraid of Prowl.

The mech was taller, more powerful, and his legal owner.

After being taken from his parents, the young mech had undergone years of training before being sold to the previous owner of the home. A traumatic event to be sure. The slaves of Cybertron had been freed by legislation when the past owner moved on, and Jazz had feared terribly for his fate as an uneducated, free mech. But then he had been given a home with Prowl, a decent bed, a good place to work. It hadn't seemed so bad. And his Master had been so kind then, bringing him energon goodies when he could, stroking his helm and holding him when he woke from terrible nightmares of childhood terrors. The mech had been his hero in those days. Some kind of fairy tale savior.

But he grew older. And so did Prowl. The mech turned cold and stony. He became so immersed in his work, Jazz was the only reason he hadn't starved to death. From that gradual change of spark, came many other changes. Jazz was told to stop crying in the middle of the night, it was keeping his Master up. He was struck for the first time, for tripping on a rug and spilling energon all over his Master. He was interfaced, how ever unwillingly, for the first time. And he had tried not to struggle too much, afraid now, of being struck again, or starved, as the new favorite punishment became. Everything had gone wrong. Jazz didn't really remember where it had started. Only that it had happened, and he would never again see his Master smile without having to feel the slow burn of rape or the crack of plating against his face and helm.

Jazz tried very hard to please his Master. In his day to day service and in the berth. So long as Prowl was appeased, Jazz was usually safe. More often than not, the poor mech spent his days running at full capacity on half fueled tanks and his nights serving as a outlet for his Master's frustrations.

All he wanted was freedom. Some idealistic part of him dreamed about finding a bot that would forgive his ugly past and worn out frame and love him with all their spark, the way he would love them. But in reality, Jazz knew how hopeless his situation was. He prayed to Primus every night for freedom, more out of habit than much actual faith. But he felt better every time. Though each morning he woke again in servitude.

Turning down the radio a click, Jazz finished his half cube and set it on the floor beside his berth. He needed to be up early next cycle and he wouldn't make it without some serious recharge. Lying down and wrapping his blankets around him, he listened to the beat change as the song shifted. "If you can hear me out there Shades, we all want ya to know, we're here, waiting for ya! DJ Blaster out!" Jazz hit recharge with a soft smile on his faceplates.

**A/N: Please, read and review, I'm seriously curious about how this is going to go over. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Stereo Hearts**

**Chapter: 2**

**Author: SomethingIDontknow**

**Rating: M (For Master complexes, rape, abuse, mechs-without-gender romancing and getting it on, and some other stuff I haven't thought of yet.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, that's Hasbro's. Luckies.**

**Author's Note: I know there wasn't much to review last time, but I'm grateful to the ones that did! And for all your interest. I was shocked by the favorites and alerts! To answer a review, yes, I have heart of the song Stereo Hearts. I'd had this concept in mind for a while, but the song did help kick start the production. **

**Warning!:**** There's non-consensual oral, unwanted touching, and abusive language ahead, if you're easily triggered, I recommend another story. **

Jazz woke a few klicks before his alarm sounded the next morning. He shut it off before it could ring. He hated that blasted thing. Rolling out of his small berth, the black and white yawned and stretched easily. It was still dark out, but he needed to start now if he wanted to be ready by the time Prowl got up.

He stopped by the wash racks, getting in a quick shower before making his way to the kitchen. Setting another container of energon to begin heating, Jazz opened the back door to let in the cooler morning air as the room warmed up. Saved on cooling and it was refreshing so early.

He stirred the container a few times, adding some sweet tasting powders to the solution before smacking himself in the face with the heel of his hand. He hadn't taken out the trash the night before! Damn it, Prowl was gonna flip. He was such a neat freak. Hefting the big plastic bin of garbage, Jazz staggered out the open doorway.

The back yard of Prowl's big house was a wide, empty space of concrete. Along the west wall, there was a small crystal garden that Jazz loved like his own sparkling. Smiling at the glowing display as he passed by, he gave up carrying the bin and turned to dragging it across the yard. Behind the tall metal fence, there were several large bins for trash and Jazz took a good few breem trying to get the smaller one high enough to empty. Curse his small height. He paused, panting a bit as his fans whirred softly. One chore down. Two thousand, four hundred and fifty eight to go.

As the small mech turned to head back in, something unusual caught his eye. At the base of the fence gate, there was a small package leaning against the concrete border. Plain brown paper tied with white string. Jazz stooped to pick it up cautiously. As Chief Enforcer Prowl had received more than his fair share of packages and letters rigged to blow. Those had usually come through the front mail though… Jazz's spark fluttered when he read the label.

To Shades

From Your Favorite Mixmaster

Oh. Primus. Without regard to possible danger, he ripped the package open. Inside, was a plain white box that lost its lid in less than a klick. Nestled in an abundance of white tissue paper, was a comm link instillation. Beside it, barely visible, was a small data chip marked with a small music note. The note beside the comm link was written in a scrawl that looked forcedly neat:

Im worried about ya, Shades. I asked around and found out about your living arrangements. I still wanna get ta know ya. If ya decide to keep the instillation, there's a friend of mine in the plaza where ya shop that can get it running in just a few breem. Just ask for Ratchet at the clinic. Give me a call, anytime ya like. Please, don't keep me waiting.

It was signed, Wishing I was your stereo.

Jazz covered his mouth with a hand, fighting back coolant tears behind his visor. Two fingers stroked over the smooth metal edges of the shiny new comm link, a rare sensation of freedom flitting across his frame just looking at it. Prowl had long banned Jazz from getting a comm link installed. He said it was distractive when Jazz had work to do.

Damn him, but he was falling harder for that DJ every second. He knew about Jazz's living and he still wanted to get to know the black and white. (Well, maybe not all about it, but Jazz didn't particularly want _anyone_ to find out about that.) Jazz wiped at his visor and faceplates. He couldn't wait to call Blaster.

The black and white returned to the kitchen, trash bin dragging in one hand, the other clutching the open package to his chest plates. He felt like he was floating. Unfortunately, he crashed as soon as he hit the open door.

The container of energon had over heated and boiled over. The residue was baking onto the stovetop, and hissing and smoking terribly. Jazz gaped for half a klick, dropping the trash bin with a bang. Then he was in motion. He set the open package on the counter with one hand and picked up the burning contain with the other. Chucking it to the sink, he started hot water rushing over the scorching container. In no time, he was swiping up spilt energon and tossing a new container on the heat.

It was going to take days of cutting his own ration to cover up the loss of a whole cube of midgrade. And Prowl would be up in just a few minutes. Jazz swallowed his panic. Panic would do him no good. The thought of the gift on the counter flashed across his processor, sending a jolt of warmth though him. Blaster. He had to do good, to get free time, to see Blaster again. Suddenly, the whole ordeal didn't seem so irreparable.

With a determined line to his mouth, he began cooking the energon over again, cleaning the counter and cook top with renewed intensity.

"What's got you all worked up this morning?"

Jazz's spark stuttered.

"N-nothing." The smaller mech stuttered, backing against the counter. Prowl stepped up, looking down at him appraisingly. "I came to see if you needed some help, but I see you have it under control." he glanced to the scorched container in the sink, "are you feeling well?" Jazz looked up into icy blue optics. "I've been feeling a little out of it lately." he admitted softly. The Enforcer smiled down at him, brushing the backs of his fingers over Jazz's faceplates. "you feel a little over warm. Perhaps you should visit the clinic?"

The smaller mech struggled to contain a yelp of joy. He coughed instead. "maybe I should." Prowl nodded, resting a hand on Jazz's shoulder. The smaller mech struggled not to react to the unnecessary touching.

"go on this afternoon, get a check over. I've been called to Vos to deal with some minor uprising. I'll be gone for a few days and I don't want to have to worry any more than usual." Prowl's smile was sweet. It was hard to believe he had so much evil inside him when he smiled like that. Jazz risked a weak smile back.

"May I use your comm to make an appointment?" he asked softly. Prowl reached past him to give the energon a stir and turn off the heat. "I'll make you one while I get my gear together. Get your chores done and have a half cube, I'll let you know when it is." Jazz nodded and moved past the larger mech to get a cube for his Master.

Jazz repressed a shiver as Prowl leaned in to nuzzle his neck and shoulder joint as the smaller mech reached up into the cabinet overhead. As he turned with a forced smile and two empty cubes in hand, his spark stopped. "what's this?" Prowl asked, noticing the opened package on the counter.

"oh um-" Jazz stuttered, reaching to cover it before the Enforcer realized what it was. Unfortunately, there was a slick patch of scorched energon just underpede as he leaned a little too far over. "Ah!" Both cubes were flung across the room as Jazz scrabbled for a handhold. The delicate structures shattered loudly against the wall and Jazz shuttered his optics, preparing for impact.

He needn't have worried. He was captured by strong arms and pulled tight against Prowl's taller frame. "Careful there." The words were breathed hotly over Jazz's audial. "s-sorry, Sir, I… I must have missed a patch while cleaning up." Jazz stammered, pressing flat palms to Prowl's chest plates, trying to push away without seeming to reject the advance too overtly. "it's alright Jazz, you've said you weren't feeling well. It's understandable if you're a little unsteady." Prowl helped right him gently, turning to scoop up shards of empty cube. With his back turned, Jazz swept up the comm link and subspaced it quickly. "Here, I'll help."

They swept up the cube shards in a few minutes and Prowl took a cube upstairs to pack his gear. Jazz settled at the kitchen table, sipping his three-quarters cube. (Prowl took mercy on his sickness.) His circuits were practically vibrating with excitement. Prowl would be gone for a few days and had_ ordered _Jazz to go to the clinic. Things never went this well for Jazz! He finished his cube with glee, and cleaned the kitchen with an absolute spring in his step.

Of course, it didn't last long.

Jazz was washing a tall window upstairs, overlooking the backyard. The plate-glass was usually covered by thick velvet curtains, but Prowl liked to have the glass spotless regardless. Leaning up, he was stretched to his full, meager height, rubbing the white foam from the sparkling glass. He was humming softly to himself, thinking only about how his call with Blaster would go. So focused, he didn't hear the soft pedesteps. Quite suddenly, he was pulled down to settle back against a taller body, hands holding on his hips.

"you look so beautiful in the light like that." Jazz gasped a thoughts, too frightened to be sure what to say. "I thought you were packing, Sir." he whispered. His body and helm were chilled as they were pressed to the glass. "I was. Now that that's all done, I'm thinking a little going away present is in order, don't you, Jazz?"

"S-Sir, I-I was going to-"

"Jazz, do I need to say it again?"

The low, dangerous tone nearly locked the smaller mech up with fear. He shook his helm as best he could and said in a small voice, "y-you're right, S-sir." "Much better." Prowl nuzzled the base of Jazz's neck as he purred, "What do you think would be best, Jazz?" Shuttering his optics, Jazz took a long, slow breath. Prowl released him, remaining close enough that he could feel the heat of exvents on his plating. Slowly, the burn of humiliation heating his faceplates, Jazz knelt.

Prowl's hands settled on his helm. He stroked over sensitive sensory horns, humming his pleasure with the turn of events. Leaning in, Jazz lapped slowly around the edges of the Enforcer's interface panel. He kept his optics shuttered tightly, trying not to breathe too much. The heat and the musky smell of lubricant made Jazz's tanks roll. _Just get it over with._ He told himself, _Do it, and he'll go away and you can see Blaster again._

The thought did little to improve the situation, but made Jazz feel just a touch better. The overheated panel slid aside with a click, though Prowl's spike remained in it's housing. Jazz glanced up, and Prowl smirked. "work for it." Gritting his denta, Jazz fixed his mouth over the housing, suckling gently, laving the exposed head with his glossa. The lubricant beading the rim was bitter and stained Jazz's mouth a lilac purple.

Prowl groaned softly, his hand closing firmly over the back of the kneeling bot's helm. The taller mech's spike pressurized suddenly, filling Jazz's mouth suddenly. He gagged and barely refrained from pushing against pristine white thighs. Coolant tears pooled in his hidden optics as he fixed his mouth around the silver shaft and began bobbing his helm slowly. Shame and humiliation warred with hatred and anger. Serving the mech stroking his helm wouldn't be so bad if he didn't insist on proving his control like this. Damnit, when Jazz thought about it, he could have liked Prowl, maybe loved him. But not when the mech forced himself on Jazz. Not when he degraded Jazz so thoroughly. Hurt him so terribly.

It was just a short while before Prowl gripped Jazz's helm and cried out softly, overloading hard. The visored mech tightened his throat, unwilling to swallow the mouthful of transfluid. He was pulled upright by the upper arm as Prowl's spike returned to it's housing and his panel _snick_ing into place. Prowl pushed their faces unbearably close together. Hot breath was panted against Jazz's face as it was tipped up with a white fingertip. "Swallow." The command was low and sharp and made Jazz shudder. Coolant tears finally slipped past his visor as he swallowed the bitter fluid. Prowl watched as sobs began to tear across Jazz's frame. "good bot." he said, petting Jazz's helm as he turned and walked away.

Jazz collapsed straight to the floor, pulling his legs up to cry into his knees. Coolant ran down his face in thick rivulets, staining his hands and knees joints. His tanks felt like they were about to purge. His mouth felt disgusting. His entire frame felt dirty.

Oh Primus, why him?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Stereo Hearts**

**Chapter: 3**

**Author: SomethingIDontknow**

**Rating: M (For Master complexes, rape, abuse, mechs-without-gender romancing and getting it on, and some other stuff I haven't thought of yet.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, that's Mr. Michael Bay's. And Hasbro's. Luckies.**

**Author's Note: Omg, Chapter 3! :D Thanks for all the review and follows you lot have given me! This story needs folks like you all. And I do. So for you, Jazz and Blaster's first meeting! **

Jazz stayed in the wash racks and purged his tanks until he was sure Prowl had left. Once there was no sound but the absolute silence of the house's constant witness, he came out. Water still dripped from his sensory horns and fingertips. His entire body felt heavier than it should, and his steps across the house were slow and labored. There was a note on the table with the time of his appointment, later that cycle, and a long list of things that were to be done and maintained. Reading over it, Jazz sighed. He had a few joor before the appointment, and he did _not_ want to be inside the house. It had seen too much. So, in a state of melancholy, he went out and tended to the crystal garden.

Half a joor before he was due at the clinic, Jazz washed up some and left, hoping to make it a little early. The drive was uneventful, though there was something about watching life go on around him, like the sparkwarming sight of a young bot offering an armful of crystal blooms to a thrilled looking femme, unaffected by the stresses of his little world, that gave him hope.

The clinic was a single story building in the south east corner of the plaza where Jazz usually shopped for all the things a household required to function. Plain and white, with a fading blue roof, it wasn't as highly equipped as the hospital across the district, but it was convent and well run. The waiting room was strategically boring, and Jazz didn't have to wait long after checking in.

"You're here for Dr. Ratchet?" The femme nurse was a sleek silver color with a single red cross on her left shoulder. Jazz smiled back easily, "Yeah, I was told I had an appointment."

"Made just this morning." The nurse pointed down a hall, "All the way down, take a left, last door on the left. If he doesn't answer, just go on in, he's probably absorbed in a data pad."

"Many thanks, Ma'am." Jazz tipped his helm in thanks and followed the blue tile path down the hall.

The last door on the left was decorated with a single plaque, "Dr. Ratchet" and a taped piece of paper, "Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here". Wow, that was encouraging. Jazz knocked once. Twice. Three times. There was the sound of muffled voices, but no response. Well, the nurse said to go right in…

He pushed the door open slowly, the way he would when he checked on Prowl in the middle of the night. Silently. There was no one in the room. It was a plain, sterile exam room, counter, chair, exam berth-thing. Jazz frowned. Where had those voices come from? There was a loud bang in response to this thought, making him jump. There was another door, this one labeled, "Office". Creeping over, Jazz knocked again. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open slowly, calling out as he did, "Hello?"

The sight that met him was most unexpected. A mech, all white, save for red hands, pelvic plates, pedes, traditional red crosses on both shoulders, and a black chevron, was sandwiched between two other bots. The two bots had the same frame type, in red and yellow, except the yellow one had helm fins. The red bot was kissing the white bot hard, and the yellow was stroking over both mech's plating as he nibbled on white neck cables. The call of, 'Hello', had the white mech trying to look toward the door. His optics were dim and unfocused when they met Jazz's. The white mech blinked twice before giving an almighty cry. The red and yellow mechs were promptly smacked over the helm, leaving bright paint transfer.

"You glitches, you didn't lock the door!" Jazz quickly shut the door and was well on his way to beating a hasty retreat when he was caught by the arm and dragged back into the office.

"Better get back here, he's nicer when there's a patient around." Yellow mech deposited Jazz in a plush chair before the desk the three mechs had previously occupied. "Calm down, Ratch, he didn't see anything traumatic, did ya, mech?" The red one turned to Jazz, giving a look of pleading desperation.

"I… uh… nothing, I mean, I didn't. Really, it's fine." Jazz stammered, looking everywhere but at the white mech.

"I highly doubt that." The smallest bot of the three, the white mech still possessed the most powerful presence in the room, "Don't cover for these twin glitches, they're already in trouble as it is." He rounded on the two mechs, apparently twins. "Out. Both of you. I'll see you tonight."

"Love ya too, Ratch." The red mech smiled and tipped Ratchet's face up for a quick kiss, followed by his brother before they both fled.

"Primus, they'll be the death of me." Ratchet grumbled as he moved to sit behind his desk, straightening datapads as he went. "So," he began, taking a seat and looking at Jazz critically, "You must be 'Shades'. Blaster says you need a comm link installed and a check over, and according to the appointment made this morning, you haven't been feeling well?"

Jazz took a moment to catch up to the abrupt change in conversation. "Um, yeah, call me Jazz. I have the comm link. The appointment was made by Prowl. I hope Blaster explained my… situation?" His voice dropped lower as he spoke, helm tipping downward as well, ashamed.

"Hey, look at me, young bot."

Lifting his helm slightly, Jazz was startled to find the Doctor kneeling in front of him. The older mech rested a red hand on Jazz's shoulder. "Don't ever be ashamed." he said firmly, meeting Jazz's optics, even through his visor, "It is what it is, and there's nothing that can be done to change what has happened. All we can do is learn from times past, and create a better future for ourselves." Ratchet smiled gently. "Blaster explained a bit to me, but only you can tell me the truth. Can I trust you to give me the whole truth?"

Jazz stared into those bright blue optics a moment, stunned to be given such honesty so easily, by a mech he didn't know.

"Of course, Sir." Jazz nodded, "The whole truth."

"Good, and don't call me 'Sir', despite what the Terrible Twosome might say, I am not that old." Ratchet smiled, more broadly this time and returned to his chair. Leaning forward on his arms, he sighed and said, "Now, for formalities, I am Ratchet, Chief surgeon here at the clinic. I met Blaster a few years ago when he was brought in after an accident. We became friends while he was here, and have remained good friends since then. He knows I'll be discreet in our work together and trusts me to keep you safe." The medic paused. "I hope you'll come to trust me as well, his friendship means a lot to me and I would like to know that he's giving his spark to a good mech."

Jazz smiled. "Its so good to know he has friends like you." He said honestly, "I hope you'll approve of me. Blaster's the best thing that's ever happened to me." His smile turned faintly dreamy and Ratchet chuckled.

"How did you two meet?" He asked, "Blaster said you'd met at 'the club' but knowing him, that could be a lot of bots in a lot of places."

The dreamy smile only got worse and Ratchet settled in for the story.

* * *

><p>Prowl let me out for the night, and extended my curfew to 1 am. Like I do every time he lets me go, I went out to my favorite club, this plain white little building in the industrial district. I'd listened to Blaster DJ on my radio at night. He's always been so natural with the beat, I'd decided he could mix a tune out of a turbofox fight. I knew I wanted to meet him, so I saved my off day until I could be sure he would be playing. I didn't have to wait long outside, the gateman knows me, knows I cant get out much and he's always willing to let me in easy. When I found out he wasn't the one playing that night, I was crushed. I almost went home. But the music… it's so addictive. And once the beat got in my circuits, I knew I couldn't go.<p>

I was dancing with this mech, really moving to the music, when I saw him. Blaster was sitting at a group of couches around a table. There was a silver plated femme leaned up against him, pawing at his plating. He never glanced at her and I could feel his optics on me. He was always talking about how he loved to watch his patrons dance, so I decided to give him a show.

I pulled that mech up against my back and let the music flood my processor. By the time I was done, I was venting hard, my fans were a buzz in my audials. The mech I had been dancing with finally gave up and begged for me to let him get a drink. He left and I felt a fingertip slide down my spinal strut. By the time I turned around, Blaster had his chest plates against my canopy. Condensation was running down my plates from the heat of my frame and the cold air being pumped in to the club. And his hands were so hot…

We danced for as long as I could stand it. By the time we sat down at a table, I was weak and shaking. Blaster bought me a cube and we went out onto the balcony to drink and talk. He told me his name and I nearly fainted with the truth of it. His voice was smooth and his optics were kind. As tired as I was, he walked me over to a couch on the balcony and we sat down. His plating was such a brilliant shade of red, and the street lights outside made flashing patters over the gold plate of his tape deck.

We settled down on an outdoor couch and Blaster held me against him like no one has ever held me before.

We talked about music, and dancing, and life, and love. His hands on my plating were… so gentle. Ratchet, I don't know if I can make you understand what that feels like. For the first time in my life, a mech had his hands on me, was touching me, so that I would feel good. Not to hurt me, or for his own pleasure. For me.

He cared about me.

Ratchet, I cant tell you what that meant to me.

By the time I check my chronometer, I was already two and a half joor late. I panicked. And Blaster… he asked what was wrong.

And I couldn't bear to lie to him.

I told him everything. About being sold when I was little, and all the time I'd spent serving before the freedom acts. I told him all about the fact I was little more than a homebound whore. All the horrible things Prowl had done, what he was no doubt going to do.

And he just nodded and watched me very carefully as I spoke and when I was finished, he pulled me into his arms… and he kissed my visor and said… said he wanted save me. He- he said I was too precious to be trapped in a life like that.

He gave me his comm frequency and would have walked me all the way back to the house, except I had to make him let me go further down the street, or Prowl would have seen us. Where we stopped, on the street corner, he held my hands and promised he would do everything he could to help me. He said that I was special, that he would like very much to know me better. "I'll find a way," he said, "So you can contact me. I want to meet you again, if you'll have it."

I was so happy, I kissed his cheek plate and hugged him before I ran down the street, back to the house.

Ratchet… I've never been special to anyone. Not even my creators. And this bot, I barely knew, that I admired for his skill, was saying that he would like to meet me again and talk. No one has ever cared about what I think and feel about anything until him.

Prowl beat me when I got home. He hit me across the helm with his Enforcer baton. When I curled up on the floor, he kicked me in the abdominal plates and helm until I was knocked offline. All I could think about was the way Blaster held me against his side and kissed my helm. I didn't scream, though I did cry. I wanted Blaster to hold me like he had forever.

* * *

><p>Ratchet was leaning over his desk, chin in hand, watching Jazz tell his story with a kind optics. The black and white looked lost in his memories, talking softly, staring into space. As he finished speaking, he seemed to shake himself out of a daze. "Sorry, I just…" Jazz trailed off.<p>

"You're so love sick there aren't any words that can describe how he makes you feel with his arms around you.?" Ratchet offered with a smirk.

Jazz felt his faceplates heat as he nodded shyly.

"I know the feeling." The Doctor smiled, "I'm not _that_ old, but I'm old enough." Ratchet stood, beckoning Jazz to follow. "Come, we'll go to the exam table and I'll hook up that comm link I'm sure you're dying to have installed."

Hopping up onto the med berth, Jazz pulled the comm from subspace and swung his pedes until Ratchet came over with a rolling tray covered in various tools. "Alright, lemmie have a look." Ratchet took the comm and turned in array over in his hands, examining it carefully. He whistled. "Damn, he got you a nice one. Durable, subtle, long range, easy to conceal signal, this is exactly what you need." He set it on the tray, and turned to Jazz. "I need you to lie down on your front, I'll go through the larger plate on the back of the helm. It'll be easier to replace too."

Jazz turned over and lay down, his nose and mouth settling over an opening in the headrest, allowing him to vent while Ratchet worked. There was a soft click of a scanner plugging into his helm and a request for access past his firewalls _ping_ed up on his HUD. Accepting the request, he lowered his firewalls and Ratchet turned down the pain sensors in his helm before setting the medical scanner aside.

"This'll take a bit, so catch some recharge if you like, I'm sure you could use it." Ratchet said, slipping a piece of metal under the back helm panel and applying gentle pressure.

"Thank you, Ratchet. For helping me." Jazz murmured, initiating recharge protocols.

"Get some rest, Jazz. You can thank me when this is up and running."

* * *

><p>Jazz came out of recharge with his helm feeling a tiny bit heavier.<p>

"Good, you're a awake. How's your helm feel?" Ratchet was sitting on a rolling chair beside the med berth.

After sitting up carefully and rolling his neck slowly, Jazz thought about it. "A little heavier than before, but nothing unbearable." he said, reading over the new data available on his HUD. He jumped when he received a loud _ping_ with a tone he had never heard before. /This is Ratchet, save my frequency./ He turned to look at the doctor.

"You can comm Blaster whenever you like," Ratchet said, examining the scanner, "Just limit the length of you communications for a few cycles, or you'll overwhelm your system as it tries to figure out how to balance energy consumption."

"Ah gotcha." Jazz filed away Ratchet's comm frequency before jumping up suddenly, throwing his arms around the doctor. "Thank you," he whispered fiercely, "For helping me, and doing this."

Ratchet stiffened sharply, but relaxed after a moment, hugging the small black and white. "Do right by Blaster, and don't ever be afraid to come to me with problems, okay?" He said softly.

"I promise. On both accounts."

They parted and Ratchet stroked Jazz's helm. "Alright," he said with a smile, "You're good to go." Jazz hugged him once more, briefly, and left with a goodbye.

Outside, he paused just outside the door. Recalling Blaster's comm frequency, he sent a request for an open communication line.

Jazz waited for a few seconds, standing on the edge in anticipation.

/Yo, Blaster here./

/Blaster? This is Jazz./


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Stereo Hearts**

**Chapter: 4**

**Author: SomethingIDontknow**

**Rating: M (For Master complexes, rape, abuse, psychological issue and perhaps some language.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, that's Mr. Michael Bay's. And Hasbro's. Luckies.**

**Author's Note: Dear sweet Primus. I would apologize, but there's no point now. As it stands, this is a chapter, and I do have more written. I just kind of… reconnected with this fic and after rereading all of your reviews (which I keep on hand in my journal as a morale booster) I knew I needed to continue. Thank you so much, all of you, your reviews are honestly the only reason I keep trying sometimes. Much Love, GT.**

"Jazz, Primus that was fast! Not that I'm complaining!" Blaster voice was bright and Jazz melted a little. No one was ever that happy to hear from him.

"Prowl said I was looking a little off so he sent me to the clinic for a check up. Ratchet said he'd send him a clean bill of health." Ratchet had also said he believed Jazz was a little stunted from poor fueling, his joints needed better care or they wouldn't support him well when he got older, and that Prowl was a "Pit spawned glitch" of a Master but he was the city's Chief Enforcer so there was likely little he could do to help.

Blaster laughed lightly. "Well what'daya know, maybe things are looking up for us yet." He said, rustling something, "I expect he was nice to you? Ratchet's a good mech, but he can be a little quick with the wrench."

Jazz began walking toward the nearest general store, mentally reviewing the things he needed at home. "Of course, though his... well... there were two brothers in his office when I got there." He was warming with embarrassment again just at the memory. "They were... kissing. And I kinda got them smacked and sent home."

It took a minute for Blaster to stop laughing.

"It's not funny, Blaster!" Jazz whined, snagging a hand basket at the door before making his way though the shop's isles, "It was awkward!"

"If Ratchet's not bothered by being caught 'facing his twin hellions, he won't be bothered about being caught making out." Blaster was still out of breath and the grin hadn't left his tone.

"Thank you, so much, for that visual." Jazz said dryly, examining a label before dropping a container in his basket.

"Well, I'm glad you got on so well with Ratchet, he's one of my oldest friends." Blaster said, finally getting himself under control, "Anyway, how's you? That 'Forcer been treatin'' you right?"

"He's out of town now, some Enforcer business in Vos. So I've got a load of chores to see to while he's gone." Jazz explained, swinging his basket morosely.

"Out of the city? Well damn, you should drop by, we could have a cube, chat some more. I really wanna see ya again."

The soft, wistful tone of Blaster's voice had Jazz freezing with a bottle of solvent at his fingertips. He took a moment to consider it, spacing out even as he fantasized.

_Spending the next few days with Blaster, spending hours talking together, maybe getting a decent meal or two. They could get to know each other so much better, they might fall into recharge together on a couch. He might wake up in Blaster__'__s arms…_

"I cant." Jazz said softly, sadness lacing his voice as he continued to gaze over bottles of cleanser, "He'll be calling in soon to check up on me. And if I don't answer the vid comm at the house, he'll come right back and beat me to within an nanometer of my life. He could comm at any time after that. I would love nothing more in the universe than to be with you, but I just cant."

"Oh." Blaster was silent a moment. Then, "Well, then I'll visit you!"

"W-what!?" Jazz cried, startling the mech standing beside him in the aisle.

"Well why not? He's not in town, I can keep outta the room while he calls ya. We'd still get ta hang out, I'd even bring some energon for the both of us. C'mon, you cant say it's an unappealing idea!"

"Well no," Jazz murmured, "But Blaster… what if he comes home? We'd both be dead."

"I can take care of myself, Jazzy." Blaster was speaking softly now, "Please don't worry about me."

_If he finds out, we're both dead. _"Blaster, seriously, I don't think-"

"How about this, have your afternoon, chat him up tonight. I can stop by tomorrow. Just for a few hours." Jazz could hear the grin in his voice, "And if it takes a little longer… well…"

Jazz thought about it a long moment. It was dangerous. But surely... surely he deserved it. It could be okay. It would be. They would be careful and thorough and everything would be okay. Finally, he laughed, a little forced, a little desperate, "If you're sure, Blaster. Tomorrow then?"

"I'll see you there, mech."

* * *

><p>The vid comm with Prowl that night went as well as Jazz could have hoped. He took a seat on the center cushion of the living room's couch, and waited for the vid screen connection to clear up. The Praxian drilled him on which chores he had managed to finish and how much his shopping trip had cost. Jazz answered honestly, keen on looking the perfect angel. Maybe then Prowl wouldn't call too much, or not at all. It had been going well, no sudden questions, wrong answers, and suddenly, Jazz knew something was wrong. There was a gleam in his optics that spelled the beginning of something terribly unfortunate."Well done, Jazz." Prowl praised, "You've proven yourself capable."<p>

"Thank you, Sir." Jazz murmured, just loud enough to be heard. He waited, breath baited. Something was going wrong. Would any moment. Prowl's optics had that gleam, the one that meant he was about to shatter something Jazz loved. "These Vosnians, Seekers mostly, they've got some interesting takes on interfacing." His smile made Jazz's tanks lurch, "Expect some new games when I return." "I- I-" Jazz stammered, scared and suddenly dreading the countdown to Prowl's return, "Y-yes, sir."

Jazz cried himself to sleep that night.

* * *

><p>The next morning, acid rain poured down. <em>If Blaster's got any sense, he'll stay home. <em>Jazz thought as he washed the entryway floor, scrubbing scrapes that would need polishing. The was an elaborate knock on the kitchen door, vibrating though the whole, empty house.

_But of course, he hasn't got any sense. _

Wiping his hands on the apron he wore when he washed, Jazz left the bucket, going to answer. Blaster had pressed himself up against the door, doing his best to keep the pouring rain off his frame. "Get in here, Blaster! Before you melt your paint off." Jazz crowed him in, turning to root around in the cabinets for a towel. "How did this seem like a good idea?' Jazz asked, coming out with a blue rag, starting to dry off Blaster's arm before he took the rag himself.

"I had transport." Blaster justified, "I was fine."

"Well I'm afraid it was for nothing." Jazz stepped back, crossing his arms uncomfortably, "I still have a lot of chores." He looked aside. "Sorry to waste your time."

Blaster leaned in and turned his helm back. "Jazz, 's not a problem. I came to be with you, how we get that time together don't matter to me." He smiled, soft and sweet and Jazz was painfully reminded of the old Prowl, the one that had brought him treats and read to him in the evenings.

He shook his helm, pushing away the thought. "That means a lot." Jazz's smile was dim. Blaster thumbed away the tears that Jazz hadn't realized were escaping.

"How could anyone have stood to hurt you so bad?" Blaster whispered, pulling Jazz in close, tucking his helm under his chin. Jazz shuddered, sobbing lightly. Blaster's arms wrapped tight around him and Jazz curled into him. "It's alright, Jazzy. It's alright." Blaster eased them to the floor and they cuddled close, silent but for Jazz's soft crying.

"I'm sorry." Jazz's whimper was broken.

"You've got nothin' to be sorry for, sweetspark. You ain't done a thing wrong." Blaster leaned back to tip Jazz's face back. "What are you sayin' sorry for?"

Jazz's intakes hiccupped and he sniffled. "I- Blaster, I'm-" It felt like something had come loose in his chest, something heavy had fallen away and he was babbling, "I'm broken and used and dirty and no one's every given a damn about me but you and there's nothing I can give you in return. I don't deserve you."

"Oh, Jazzy." Blaster looked shattered a moment before he was taking Jazz by the chin and tipping his helm back for a devouring kiss. Jazz whimpered, sliding his arms up and around Blaster's neck before melting into it. He didn't push, but when they parted, Jazz was left gazing up at him, mouth open. Blaster took a shaking breath, gazing down at Jazz with a jumble of emotions conflicting in his face. "Jazz, you're beautiful. The sweetest mech I've ever known. You're caught in a bad situation, something I don't think I could survive, and you've come out of it kind and caring and willing to put faith in a mech like me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And knowing that you feel like that... baby, it kills me." Blaster's optics were soft and beginning to shine with coolant as he took Jazz's face in his hands, giving him a tiny shake as he continued, voice edging into desperation. "Jazz, I need you do promise me something. I need you to promise me you'll fight. Fight everything in you that says you're not good enough. I will be here, right here, Jazzy, and no matter how many times it takes, I'll tell you: You are not alone. You're worth it. You are good and brilliant and Jazz, I love you."

"I- Blaster- I"

"I don't need an answer now."

"I promise." Coolant was streaming down his faceplates, but Jazz looked up at Blaster and he found hope. Blaster wouldn't lie to him. Wouldn't say those things if they weren't true. He just had to convince himself. "I promise you, Blaster."

"You have to do this for yourself, Jazz. This is a promise to yourself too." Red fingers brushed over Jazz's cheekplates, sliding down the seam there.

"I know. I don't want to live like this forever." He leaned into those gentle hands and Blaster kissed his visor. "I want to be okay."

Blaster pulled him close and Jazz curled up in his lap, resting his helm on a broad red shoulder. Rain pattered against the kitchen window in the quiet. The light that managed to break through was gray and gloomy, casting dappled patters across the tile floor. Shadows flickered across a pair of frames tangled together on the ground. It was a dark and hopeless image. And somehow, Jazz had never felt so good. He knew he was facing a mountain, but Blaster's arms tightened briefly around him and something brave and strong, something from the old days, before Prowl or his old Master or training in a basement cell or even being stolen away from his family, swelled inside him. He could do it.

He would be free.


End file.
